The death of a blueberry
by AVENGERTARDIS
Summary: Gus yanked the door open with a quick warning glance to Shawn, and then moved his vision over to the outside. Both of them almost immediately froze. At first glance, a person would only see a giant husk of warping metal engulfed in flames, but it was that unmistakable boiling blue paint that identified the husk as a sentimental part of the private detective's lives.
1. Ashes To Ashes

**Chapter 1.**

It's storming in Santa Barbara, several patrols were ordered to move with caution around the area. They roamed down the streets with their lights flashing in case other vehicles could not see them through the blanket of rain. No one dared drive faster than 10 mph.

The whole city had gone dark during the storm because of the oldest red oak in California deciding to take a swan dive into the city's power grid. Not only did it cause the immediate power outage, but it also started a raging forest fire that any resident of the city could see as the orange glow flickered over the tree-line.

The sounds of the rushing fire engines and the squeals of their alarms filled the entire region and could be heard from any corner of Santa Barbara.

At the moment, Shawn Spencer and his oldest and blackest friend, Burton Guster, are trying to entertain themselves through the storm in the lonely psych office by the beach. From their perch in the office they could hear the angry crash of waves about 50 yards away as they clashed into the thin pier stretching out into the ocean. They could also almost feel the wind as it crashed into the side of the building, shaking the shingles on the roof as it whistled around the small frame of the psych business building.

Shawn sat crossed legged on top of his desk. Gus was in the same position across from him on his own desk. They each had a handful of simple playing cards.

Shawn playfully lets a grin slide across his face, "Alright, on three..."

At the same time the two of them count to three, then pull out a card, lick the back of it, and push it to their respective foreheads so it sticks.

Gus lets out a hearty laugh, "You think you're going to beat me with _that?_"

Shawn flashes him a toothy smile, "If you could see what I see, you wouldn't be boasting just yet."

"Oh, is that so?"

"It is so. It is so, _so_, so."

"Oh, it's on."

"It is on, like Donkey Kong." Shawn shifted his position to lean closer and more menacingly at his cocky friend.

Gus tried his best to match his arrogant partner's mocking sneer, "20," he said as he placed a handful of bingo chips down on the small table in front of them. "You gonna check it or fold it, _Donkey Kong_?"

Shawn looked at the stack of chips next to him, he narrowed his eyes at it carefully before grabbing an already counted out pile, and threw it into the center table. "I raise you to 40. You man enough to back it up?"

Gus looked over at his chips; it could be a classic Shawn move. Feign knowing he has the higher card, bluff it, and have him crumble under his over-confident stare. It already worked a few times before, but there was never a way to tell. He might as well try to call him out on it.

"You know it," he wasn't expecting his voice to waver in his throat as much at it had. He placed the extra 20 chips in the center, assuming he had called Shawn on his bluff.

After a tense few seconds, the two of them lifted their cards off their own foreheads and took a peek at them.

"You _cheated_!" Gus threw his card into the psychic's face; it unexpectedly stuck to his cheek. With a disgusted look, Shawn ripped the card off his face and let it fall to the ground.

"I did not!"

"You totally saw my card! Man, I should have known better. You always win; you know what you call someone who always wins?"

"Lucky?" Shawn sat up a little more, his grin widening.

"-A cheater. A dirty rotten _cheater_." Gus unhooked his coat from the hanger behind him, swiveled his legs off of the desk and marched through the doorway.

"Why do you hurt me?" Shawn put on a pouty face as he followed Gus out of the room and into the waiting area of the office.

As Gus opened his mouth to answer, a loud cracking sound could be heard. Suddenly it was followed by the sound of a large explosion that rippled through the ground and caused a glass vase to fall of its perch nearby the duo. It shook the house and the sheer force of the sound vibrated inside the two of their chests.

They glanced at each other, and then both darted to the front door at the same time, fighting to grab at the handle first. Gus elbowed Shawn in the stomach, causing Shawn to yelp out and move back, he rebutted with a quick slap to the back of his friend's head. Gus yanked the door open with a quick warning glance to Shawn, and then moved his vision over to the outside. Both of them almost immediately froze.

At first glance, a person would only see a giant husk of warping metal engulfed in flames, but it was that unmistakable boiling blue paint that identified the husk as a sentimental part of the private detective's lives.

"The blueberry," Shawn gasped out. The flames were unnaturally large for the amount of rain threatening them; the wind that blew against the burning echo encouraged the flames and almost kissed the extremely flammable bushes that decorated the psych parking lot. Gus let out a whimper, and let himself sink into the shock and fear.

"That's my car Shawn," he said, solemnly.

"I know buddy," Shawn placed a reassuring hand on the quivering shoulder, "I know."

"It's a company car Shawn. It has to be in peak condition." His voice wavered. "I'm going to cry Shawn."

"Yep," Shawn agreed softly, he could feel a familiar sting in his eyes as he watched the fire slowly succumb to the rain. When he glanced over to Gus, he couldn't tell if it was the rain or tears that were running down his face, and he was sure that Gus was silently thanking the rain for that.

_~In between the lines there'__s a lot of obscurity_

_ I m not inclined to resign to maturity_

_ If it s all right, then you re all wrong _

_Why bounce around to the same damn song _

_You'__d rather run when you can t crawl_

_I know you know that I m not telling the truth_

_ I know you know they just don t have any proof_

_ Embrace the deception, learn how to bend_

_ Your worst inhibitions tend to psych you out in the end_

_I know, you know_

_ I know, you know~_

* * *

**A/N: Welcome readers! I'm glad you're taking the time to read this.**

**I have no idea where this story is going; I make my stuff up as I go along.**

** If you're thinking of cool ways this story can go, I'll be glad to make it happen just send me a P/M with your ideas.**

**If you're having trouble coming up with ideas just think of these questions;**

_**1.)How does the PD react to the storm and power outage?**_

_**2.)Was the death of the blueberry part of some evil plot or the result of the storm?**_  
_**3.)What is the replacement vehicle for the blueberry?**_  
_**4.)Was Shawn cheating?**_  
**5.)****Who do our favorite psychic detectives go to first to tell what happened to the blueberry, Chief Vick, Juliet, Carlton, Woody, or Henry?**

**Any and all Reviews are welcome!**  
**Reader input is the only thing that will keep this story going!**

**(if you don't want to PM, or you don't have an account to do so, you can catch me by email at Avengertardis gmail . com )**


	2. What Have I Done To Deserve This?

It took a long while for either of them to move. It felt even longer before they were able to release the air they had been holding hostage in their lungs. The whole scene looked like a murder and it had the same effect on the two closest to the victim.

They were staring at the unmoving corpse of a good friend, and the feelings that came with that were beginning to rise to the surface. For Gus it was more the fear and anger that his body reacted to. So much so that it responded before his mind could recover from the shock. He only just began to try and consciously still his shaking hands when he noticed he was unable to steer his eyes from their locked position on the skeleton of the blueberry. His heart pounded in his ears loud enough to cover up the sound of the wind as it battled the raging ocean only so many yards from the office. His feet seemed to be trying to escape on their own and it took Gus a good amount of strength to not follow up with their suggestion.

And then he started to feel the anger. What he thought was a lump in his throat became a blessing muffler to the amount of curses he was ready to spew into the howling wind. Every one of his muscles began to tighten up for the second time, and he began to make indistinguishable sounds as he stomped his feet into the asphalt. His hands were stuck in fists while they were swung through the air in no discernible direction.

The only recognizable thing coming out of his mouth was, "someone's gonna pay, oh I swear it, someone's gonna pay."

Shawn could feel the sadness tugging at his heart when he could no longer tell what the mass of metallic twists and turns used to be. The blueberry deserved a much more grand death, maybe as it was being driven by David Hasselhoff and if the little blue car suddenly possessed a highly intelligent AI. Obviously something much more worthy than the death than the Aston Martin received in that new James Bond movie. Something heroic. Not this, this was sad. This was real.

It took a good fifteen minutes before either of them realized it would probably be best if they told someone.

They both headed back inside the office leaving the charred remains to continue to bend and warp against the wind. Gus almost immediately felt himself fall into a haze. His mind reeling on what he should do first. A smart man would call the car company and let them know about the predicament, and follow up with a call to his boss which he was not looking forward to. A concerned man would call the police first and inform them of the chunk of metal that taunted them from the parking lot and how it used to be a Toyota Echo. Maybe he'd even call his parents to inform them he was alright and find out how they were holding up. He started to lightly pace while his mind separated from the hectic world around him, even as the door swung open on its own.

Shawn gripped the door tightly as the storm tried it's best to enter the office. He groaned as his heels dug into the hardwood of the front room and the door pushed back against him with vengeance. He looked over to his oddly quiet friend who had been frantic moments earlier for help, but the man seemed to be acting like he was trying to figure out which character from friends he was most like. The last time he was debating it, he hadn't spoken to Shawn for six hours.

_"Gus!"_ He squeaked as he felt his feet being pushed backwards against his efforts, "I'm going to_ lose!_ Oh god I'm going to lose!"

Gus seemed to snap back into reality at the sound of his friend being suffocated between the wall and the wood door.  
He looked over his shoulder, spun on his heels—a lot more charismatically than he actually meant—and bolted toward his distressed friend.

Both of them grabbed a fistful of door and began to push back against it with all the strength they could muster. The wood groaned in response but was no match for the combined strength of the two men. It eventually gave up its attempts and withdrew back into the frame. They released it and took a few well deserved breaths to relax their now aching wrists and grinned at each other having successfully rid themselves of the threat of invasion by storm.

Shawn slapped Gus hard on the back drawing a yelp from his friend, "We totally showed him."  
Gus shook his head. It was like the sight of the late blueberry had no effect on him, "Shawn, do you even understand what's happening here?"

Shawn's brows furrowed, half wanting to take what Gus said as an insult, but the other half deemed it not worth it, "Well, I'm not a weather man, but I'm pretty sure it's storming outside."

He winced at the harsh stare and frown combo he got in return.

"Don't you think it's possible that someone set the blueberry on fire? It could be a statement against us. We should call the police."  
Shawn frowned, "Let's just wait. It's not worth it to call them now, there's fires happening everywhere and power lines going down all over Santa Barbara. Even if they _do_ answer, it's not like they'll be able to do anything until later."

He hated to admit it, but Shawn was making sense—which wasn't a normal Shawn thing.

"Besides, we should really start cleaning up."

He hadn't realized it, but since they had witnessed the untimely death of the most reliable member of the psych agency he hadn't looked around to see what damage had been done to the psych office itself. One of the windows had blown inwards in the sheer force of the wind and the floor in front of it was soaked with rain. Miscellaneous papers were strewn across the hardwood floors as well as random stationary objects. Shawn's action figure collection looked as if it had gone through World War II with all the GI. Joe's that were laying broken and defeated in random places. One of them had found itself thrown into a nearby drawer, only the two legs were visible sticking out of a large file.

The vase that had fallen earlier remained shattered on the floor—it was a wonder neither of them had stepped on the broken shards of glass on their way inside. Gus checked his feet just in case, with all the crazy things happening at once, it probably wouldn't be hard for him to ignore sharp pain in his feet over the booming headache he now had.

He let out a low growl and rubbed his temples. Shawn had already dropped onto his knees and was using an old shirt to gather up the broken shards. Gus walked off to get a dustpan and help clean.

When he came back with the dustpan under his arm he looked over to see Shawn's back in the open doorway. Gus was mentally preparing himself for another wrestling match with the door when he noticed the shocked look that had frozen over Shawn's normal sneer.

He slowly made his way over to his friend's side and looked out the door to see the shivering soaking wet forms of Juliet O'Hara and Carlton Lassiter.


	3. We Care A Lot

Chapter 3

"We need help," Jules mumbled.

Behind the duo, the storm had lessened its siege against the beachfront city; the thunder and wind still howled in unprovoked anger deep in the dark skies that lit with persistent lightning revealing the thick ominous clouds. The rain littering the Earth below keeping the flood waters flowing, however, the winds were no longer strong enough to steal the air from your lungs and the lightning had retreated to the skies.

Jules' shivering shoulders drew close to her ears in attempt to retain her remaining body heat. The rain and prolonging winds had made it very hard for her to succeed. Her fingers had gone numb only within a few seconds of exposure and after another moment it had spread to her ears, nose, and calves turning them prickly bright red. Like her partner standing next to her, she felt vulnerable being as drenched as she was. Although her clothes were a dark opaque black, they felt white and transparent, especially under the shocked gaze of Shawn Spencer.

Shawn felt a grin tug against his lips as he watched her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Carlton attempted to still his quivering limbs and refused to lock eyes with either one of the private detectives who now stood opposite him. His shoulders were slumped, physically being pushed down by his own pride and the weight of the dripping clothes. This building was probably the one place he would never be caught dead in, let alone sopping wet and uncomfortable. His stomach churned at the thought of asking the faux-detectives for any kind of aid. He'd rather get pneumonia and die, a regrettable but likely possibility had he remained outdoors. Unfortunately, this decision wasn't made by him. It was made by his junior partner who threatened to expose his extremely manly fear of snow globes to the police department if he did not come with her. They grow up so fast.

He knew somewhere in the depth of his mind that he was extremely proud of her for standing up to a head detective such as him and admired her gall, however, it didn't help that he was now at Spencer's doorstep, soaking and vulnerable. He really wished he had his gun, at least then he wouldn't feel so naked. He might just be able to blow that glinting tooth right out of Spencer's grin.

"You need help? Well, join the party. It's been a rough night," With a sympathetic voice, Gus wrapped his hand around his friend's wrist and yanked him out of the doorway, gesturing with the other for the other two to come inside. He did not need to elaborate on the rough night remark, for the two seemed to understand completely after stepping onto the soaked hard wood floor and the debris of the earlier invasion came into view. Gus shoved the dustpan into Shawn's chest, causing Shawn to reflexively close his hands around it. Shawn was half tempted to punch Gus in the shoulder for that, but by the time he had readied a fist, Gus had released him and was already heading off to grab some towels for the two dripping detectives.

For a few moments as the refugees of the storm awkwardly huddled indoors, nobody spoke. Shawn felt a familiar tug on a nerve buried in the back of his mind. His subconscious mind had noticed something, and now his conscious mind had to seek it out. He ran his eyes up and down the shivering forms trying to pull out clues from their appearance, but all he could discover was a new-found sense of the word "wet." It looked as though the rain waters had washed all the evidence of their earlier hours away. He found himself studying the junior detective much more than the tall lanky head detective. Her figure was much more appealing. He had to suppress an urge forming in the deepest part of his chest to move the strands of hair that had glued themselves to Juliet's flushed face.

He watched as their clothes clung uncomfortably to them, and was suddenly very appreciative he was dry. Both of them looked as though they were ready to rip their clothing from their bodies if it meant they could stop feeling the cold touch of the fabric. The detectives had looked longingly at Shawn's clothes, and for a moment, Shawn wondered if he'd need to fight them over them.

He knew that if they were to attack, he would not be able to fend himself against them both—he might lose a sock or something with Juliet, but for the most part he'd be able to hold her back. With Carlton however, he might only have a sock by the end of the quarrel. Not to mention the possible embarrassment.

Shawn took a step back, keeping the shivering duo at an arm's length as he glanced quickly at the closet door his friend had disappeared into. He saw some movement inside before the door opened to reveal Gus cradling newly folded towels.

After the towels had been distributed, Shawn finally broke the silence.

"What the hell happened to you guys and why are you here?"

Juliet winced at the abruptness of the question. Lassie simply expected it. Both exchanged glances at each other, then at the two men.

"You mean you don't know?" Lassie's voice was surprisingly soft. Jules had lowered her shoulders and a look of concern washed over her features. Gus inched closer to Shawn, both able to sense the foreboding atmosphere. The wind jostled the door.

"Are you talking about the blueberry?" Gus asked, "In which case, we know all about that." He frowned. Shawn patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, he frowned as well. His eyes felt misty.

"What?—blueberry?" Jules looked perplexed.

"What the hell are you talking about Guster," Lassie growled through feral teeth, "This is serious."

"Our—" Shawn started.

"My car." Gus interrupted, eyeing Shawn.

"Psych's car." Shawn added.

"It's my car Shawn, knock it off."

"I think it's my car too. I use it as much as you—maybe even more."

"I paid for it Shawn, that makes it _my_ car."

"Just because you pay for something doesn't make it yours."

"Yes it does Shawn! That's the whole reason people pay for things!"

"tch, C'mon son—"

"I swear to god I'm losing IQ points just listening to you morons," Lassie rubbed the place between his eyebrows soothing a forming headache, "Anyway, as I was saying—No Guster. This isn't about your feminine car. It's about—"

Jules stepped in front of Lassie, scooping Shawn's hands up into her small soft ones, "It's about your dad Shawn," she frowned. Shawn's brows furrowed, he looked her dead in the eyes and stared. She was telling the truth, he knew it. He might not be psychic, but he could sense it. He took a step back, ripping his hands from hers. His heart started racing.

"No," He turned his back, "my dad's at home. He's watching old reruns of the A-Team and nothing happened. Nothing at all."

"Shawn his truck—" Jules tried, Shawn's shoulders jerked upwards tensely as he turned. He pointed at her menacingly, his teeth barring, "I want you to get out now. This is my building and I have the right to choose who enters it. Neither of you are welcome here, get the hell out." He pointed at the door with a quick swing of his arm. His eyes burning holes into the shocked junior detective in front of him. The detectives looked at each other, then accepted their predicament. They headed out the door—only stopping when Jules took a second to glance back over her shoulder.


End file.
